


Begrudgingly

by mytholizzie



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Capitol events, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Abuse, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Porn With Plot, Pre-Series, established seneca/effie pairing, lowkey dominance, smut central
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 22:10:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20881481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytholizzie/pseuds/mytholizzie
Summary: Basically just an excuse to write some extremely smutty Hayffie lolz. This is my first Hayffie/THG work, so if anything seems really AU or OOC, I apologize. Based on a prompt I found on tumblr that is listed below;





	Begrudgingly

**Author's Note:**

> Muse A and Muse B have been known to carry their side of an argument and there have been a handful of occasions where they've fallen into bed with one another. So one night, to change their regular pattern, Muse A tells Muse B to put on a nice dress and get ready for the event they'd be requested to attend. Before they can leave, Muse A pushes Muse B against the wall and pulls her dress up and commences to jerk off and cum into her panties. Muse A tells her to keep them on with the cum oozing out of them. They attend dinner and spend the entire time knowing that his cum is flowing out of her. Muse A makes B get up and walk around often as a sign of dominance. Endless fun can be had dinner and other locations.

With the season in full swing, Effie had been tittering around afternoon, chirping on about stylists and this season's Capitol Couture that she 'would absolutely kill for' before she realized her mistake in stating that as a comment when around Haymitch. He was the only Victor to have come out of District 12, where she'd begrudgingly accepted the role as Escort, to shuttle Tributes from each year's Reaping, a number of years prior to the current year's 72nd Games. He had been displeased upon hearing the statement she had boldly announced and had tossed her a half-hearted glare; he hated everything she was about. From the bleached skin, the painted lips, coiffed pastel and often garish wigs, insane fashion and killer heels, to the affected accent and her enthusiasm for plucking two names from the Tribute bowls each year. Still, she kept him in line, to a certain extent and for that, he was thankful.

Her stylist had arrived at the District 12 penthouse, in order to ensure she looked her best, since she was in the spotlight. Of course, Effie didn't need to worry about herself, she knew how to present herself and maintain her graces while at Capitol events. Her concern lay with the unpredictable oaf she'd been saddled with; Haymitch was a loose cannon, and everyone knew it, especially Effie. There had been instances in the past when she'd almost had to strike him in public company, and there had been a time during the previous season, when she'd required assistance in carrying him back to the penthouse. She had been livid.

While the Tributes were in the Training Center, being evaluated, both she and her District 12 partner, the cumbersome drunk, Haymitch Abernathy's presence had been requested at one of the Capitol's lavish events, celebrating the beginning of the annual Hunger Games season in Panem. During the actual Games, there were so many parties, events, parades to attend, Victors and Escorts were expected to attend all of them, regardless of their mental or emotional state. Haymitch hated them; the events, the people, the frivolous behavior.

"Come, come!" Came Effie's shrill chirrup and gloved palms clapping together twice, as she circled him lazing on the plush leather couch, legs spread into oblivion as he nursed (what she had counted was) his fifth whiskey. She gave barely a moment's pause before she continued, "We must get you ready to attend the party, Haymtich. We can't have you arriving looking as though you just rolled out of the Arena."

She reached to pry the glass from his hand, as his fingers closed around her slender waist and he warned her, "I wouldn't do that if I were you, sweetheart. You may be my Escort but, you're sure as shit not my keeper."

Effie retracted and audibly gasped as his insult, "Haymitch! Manners!" She chided him, knowing full well he would probably not pay any attention to her rebuke. She straightened, scoffing with a very hauty huff as she smoothed out her garments and teetered away slightly on impossibly high heels. After a moment however, she turned and shot him a swift, "You may finish your beverage but, note that I've instructed the Avox to have you in the bathroom in ten minutes. I've arranged for the best of the best to help you prepare your look for the party."

"The 'best of the best'? Shit, princess, you shouldn't have." Haymitch chortled as he flattened his available hand over his heart in a mock display of gratefulness, smirking in her general direction. "There's still hours until this party, take a weight off, sit your pretty ass down and relax."

"Language!" She exhaled wearily, watching how he flipped his head slightly, to shake his sandy hair from his face, "He comes with a recommendation from Seneca Crane. And, you do deserve the very best, after all, you are a Victor." Effie nodded, clasping her hands at her waist, unsure how he would take her compliment.

By some stroke of a miracle, Haymitch ignored her sugar-coated pseudo-compliment and instead vied straight for the new topic of conversation; Seneca Crane. He eyed her suspiciously before he probed, "That's the fourth time you've mentioned that mutt today, if I were none the wiser, I'd say he gets your panties in a bunch, darling."

The Escort felt her face flush upon hearing his comment but, she of course, tried to play down her embarrassment, "He is not a mutt, he happens to be quite a respectable, young bachelor here, in the Capitol." 

"Oh, he's a mutt, alright. I've seen the way he drools after you. Follows you around like a puppy dog." Haymitch continued, teasing her enough to make her angry was a hobby of his. He knew which of her buttons to press in order to get her wound up so tightly, he shook his head, sipping from the perfectly crystalline glass he still nursed, "Bachelor? He ain't no bachelor if he's off the market."

She pursed her lips and huffed once more, he had read her like an open book, "Ten minutes. Bathroom." She reminded him, rounding on her heel to clack back to her own bedroom in the penthouse, clicking the door closed as she awaited her stylist's instructions to begin preparations on getting herself presentable for the event. 

Haymitch had actually managed to keep track of time, following the solid instructions Effie had given him to the letter; he had thrown back the last of his whiskey before he set the tumbler on the marble top table and stood with a minute sway. He made his way to his own quarters unscathed, and without the aid of the promised Avox, where he was greeted by the presumed stylist his Escort had informed of. He managed to get through the primping and fussing, even with those ridiculously tiny scissors near his scruff.

Effie's makeup came first, following the brush and hose down she'd had, leaving her smelling like Belgian waffles. Given the extravagance of the event, her stylist had plucked out the most outrageous lashes even Effie had ever seen, and attached them meticulously to her upper lid, using a colored mascara to blend her own lashes to the fake set. Next came the wig, lime green with hints of black before she finally stepped into the puffball dress, arm around the stylist's shoulder to steady herself on the impossible heels.

"I already told you!" Haymitch bellowed, advancing on the stylist as he backed up, minuscule scissors pointed at him as Haymitch forced him from his quarters "You ain't turning me into a human Ken doll. Now, you better take these before they end up in a place they'll need to surgically remove 'em from." 

Effie, of course, came tottering out of her quarters with a light sprint, squeaking at the scene before her, before she huffed and told her stylist and the present Avoxes to leave. She carefully clasped her tiny hand around Haymitch's slightly calloused, quivering hand encasing the trimming scissors, extracting them from his grip and proffering them back to Seneca's stylist with an apologetic furrow of her brows. And, once the company had left, she rounded on Haymitch who was already pouring himself a drink.

"What in Snow's name is wrong with you?!" She hissed, stepping closer to him as she carefully managed to avoid tumbling down the stairs into the living room.

"Save it, sweetheart. Don't you go playin' all high and mighty on me." Haymitch started, "If you wanted so badly for me to look like your boyfriend, you could've just told me." Upon hearing her lack of response, he turned, leaning back against the bar as he nursed his (sixth!) drink, "Damn stylist came at me with those goddamn scissors, and you didn't even buy me dinner first..."

"Oh, please! If y--"

"Please, what?" Haymitch jumped in, "Please, don't flatter myself?" He straightened, pushing himself forward lightly from the mini bar, hearing the bottles and glasses clinking behind his back, "I think you can drop the act, princess. We both know that's all this is."

Effie was rendered speechless, having Haymitch invade her personal space. She felt her breath hitch as she stared up at him with wide, doe-eyes, trying to anticipate his very unpredictable behavior. Effie knew that he was implying she wasn't all airs and graces, and such a lady after all. There had been times in the past when she had tossed out all of her inhibitions and got downright dirty with him on a very drunken and rage-induced whim. She knew it was always the same for him, too.

She knew he hated every fiber of her Capitolesque person, enough so that the times they had fucked, he had left bruises on her skin; the aggressive purple was a stark contrast to the bleached porcelain she sported. And, as porcelain she may have looked, Effie knew that he knew she wasn't going to break, she was stronger than she looked.

Effie finally made the move to speak up, "Had I known he was going to design your beard into a new form of topiary, I would have warned you. Not that you deserve it, at all." She huffed and rolled her eyes, and in her own Effie-like manner, ending the conversation.

Unfortunately for her, he was not done. Not in the slightest. With his free hand, he made a grab for her hand, glomming onto her delicate wrist and eliciting a shallow gasp from her throat before he yanked her to his body, crushing her against his chest in a flurry of tulle and sequins, as his lips sought hers with a desperate pucker. He noted that Effie did not protest and within moments, Haymitch had whirled her around and pushed her against the mini bar.

He longed to feel, skim, trace over her every inch but, with only one available hand, it was a challenging task to initiate. Blindly, Haymitch sought the flat surface to place the tumbler from which he'd been sipping, not caring which way up it ended as his impatient fingers began their quest for her flesh under the multitude of skirts she had donned.

"That was crystal!" Effie hissed, hearing the tumbler shatter on the marble floor, tiny shards of etched glass prickled at her pantyhose, as she felt his rough stubble tracing her neck, in the wake of his lips, hot on her skin. He used the opportunity to scout a more efficient area for what he had in mind; couch - too flat, bed - kids could return at any given moment, wall - perfect. He sought purchase in her neck once more, backing Effie from bar to wall, grappling at her arms in a bid to keep her upright as she stubbled through the shattered glass.

He heard the most unladylike grunt forced from her lungs as her bare back hit the cold plaster of the wall and he once again forced his mouth over hers. With one tempered hand, he found the refined apple of her backside and gave a gratuitous squeeze of her cheek while his other roamed the downy skin at her back. Haymitch felt gosse flesh appearing on her skin in the wake of his fingers, and Effie physically shuddered at the reaction her body made to his actions.

It took him all but a few seconds to remember why he had figuratively pounced on her, and the mood struck him down like a rampant fever coursing through his mind and body at record pace. The hand he held at her back gripped her hip; pliable, womanly, feminine hips, and his other raced from her buttock to her thigh, lifting it at his waist as he began to grind against her.

Effie's breathing became slightly more ragged than it already had been and she dared open her eyes up at him. She was met with an expression she couldn't read but, the ministrations he carried out were telling; he was pissed, in every sense of the word. With his fingers boring into the supple skin at her thigh, Effie was about to question him and his motives when he sharply whooshed her around and pinned her facing the wall. With the absence of his fingers squeezing at her thigh, the knee connected with the dresser beside them, sending a sharp, shooting pain through her body that almost made her lose her balance.

He seemed to not notice, if he did, he didn't care much for her well-being at that point. Haymitch simply gripped at her hips once again, forcing her to lend her weight against the wall, with two perfectly manicured hands, palms splayed over the cool plaster. It didn't take him long to find the absolute radical within her layers upon layers of tulle and georgette, before he tugged them all, sending a few sequins and choice words pluming around the room.

"It seems you still haven't learned to keep your damn mouth shut, sweetheart." He began, still rustling in her skirts as he fiddled with the buckle on his belt, trying to unhook it single-handedly, "I'm going to show you just how different me and your precious Head Gamemaker are."

Effie wasn't shaken in the slightest, she knew what he was capable of, and that he, like many other red-blooded men, needed what they needed. It wasn't unwelcomed attention, she'd been in this position with him before, many times. When she felt the cool air biting at the backs of her thighs, she exhaled shakily. Effie knew what his reaction would be to finding exactly how much she enjoyed his company, and even more so, his touch.

His hand came down on the skin like a burning sear, a loud crack reverberated around the penthouse, as he slapped her buttock. He reveled in how it jiggled with the afterschocks, and in how she whimpered as the jolt sent vibrations through her body. Another two slaps, not as harshly administered, and Haymitch's hand found the panties she wore, tugging the exquisitely fragile confines down over the apple of her cheeks.

"Jesus Christ, princess..." He exhaled, he was most certainly taken aback by the sight of her glistening, so ready for him.

He hadn't pushed her against the wall to be nice, though and he needed to remind himself of the fact. The delicate pastel fabric that had been covering her modesty was a vapid reminder that he was not here to play fair with Effie Trinket. They'd done this dance several times before, and with the comments she'd made earlier in the day, the constant judging and tittering with her friends Octavia and Flavius, Haymitch had had enough.

He'd released himself from his own confines earlier and with the combination of seeing her so wet for him, her sounds, the way her body felt so malleable between his hands, he had gotten hard and was standing almost to attention. He didn't want her, though. He wanted to screw her over, like she had done for the few years she'd been an Escort. It seemed Effie had only recently gotten herself involved with Seneca Crane, and Haymitch hated the man; so pompous - he and Effie were a great match. His wish for the evening was to see her getting screwed over, and that's exactly what he'd do.

Of course, Effie was expecting him to be quick and dirty, their usual pattern but, it never came. She felt the fingers licking at her heated flesh, his pelvis grinding against hers and the roaming of his hands over her breasts. But, no quick and dirty. It wasn't until she pressed herself further against the wall did she feel anything; he tucked his length between her legs and gave a lackadaisical thrust, reveling in the drag of friction her thighs made along his cock.

"Haymitch, are you really that drunk you require my assistance with your aim?" She tittered, turning her head to the side, catching his expression on her peripheral. Gripping and squeezing her body through the course fabrics she wore provided further arousal for him as he continued to rut against her, using his booted foot to shuffle her feet closer together, and in turn, squeeze her thighs closer around his throbbing shaft.

"No, just stop talking." He responded, almost too quickly, as he pistoned his hips against her, grunting each time her buttocks clapped back against his groin. He knew he wouldn't hold out long enough to even dip inside her, and he was fine with that but, he knew she would not be. He didn't care, he just wanted to get himself off, reverse the years of torment he had endured from the Capitol's most elite, as they passed him around at their parties before he ended up in their beds.

It took him less than a few more seconds before he bucked jerkily against Effie, shooting strands of his seed along her thighs and into the panties and pantyhose she wore. She felt the scant tell-tale trick and slick, warm liquid against the chilled skin of her thigh, knowing he wasn't going to need nor want to bury himself within her before the party.

As she reached behind herself, to feel him out, he batted her hand away and scoffed, "Pull 'em up, we're going to be late, princess. Wouldn't want to mess up your schedule now, would we?"

"Surely, you can't expect me to attend this event with... this mess...?" Effie questioned.

"No time. Pull 'em up."

"Haymitch, there is always time to ensure proper appearances are maintained."

"Sweetheart, you were the one telling me to be on time, and abide by that ridiculous schedule you always have down pat. I'm abiding, for once, and you're the one wanting to change things at the last minute." He gave a non-committal shrug before shucking his pants up, tossing a sideways glance at her at he fastened his zipper. She was a mess. He couldn't help but smirk at his handiwork, "Cars will be arriving any minute. Wouldn't want to keep loverboy waiting now, would we...?"

It took Effie everything she had to pull up her panties and hose, securing the evidence of their triste. Luckily, the pantyhose she wore were adorned with sparkling threads and sequins, just a continuation of her dress, really. Any leakages could be mistaken for shimmering goodness, "At the first opportunity I get, I'll be cleaning myself up."

"No, I don't think so, darlin'." He chortled, handing her her clutch purse, "It's a big night for you and your companion. Besides, the Tributes we've got this year are really going to need all the sponsors they can get. Might need you to flirt up a storm..." Haymitch offered his arm to her, "Shall we?"

She obliged, again, begrudgingly.


End file.
